


and we shall worship false idols.

by mmmmmack



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Gen, Young Inquisitor (Dragon Age), dual inquisitor au, in this house we loathe and despise the chantry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:13:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmmmack/pseuds/mmmmmack
Summary: No one seemed to care that Inquisitor Eshera was an elf; most important, no one seemed to care that they weren't Andrastian. No one seemed to care at all.
Kudos: 3





	and we shall worship false idols.

**Author's Note:**

> ah yes, my streak of writing anti-chantry fic begins! i think there are so many ways that the chantry's history with non-andrastians and non-human races could've been incorporated into the series, but alas.
> 
> but i have thoughts, so here we are! the first of many, probably.

“Do you think they’ll forget me?”

Mio sits on the floor behind their adoptive brother’s desk in their shared study. The younger Inquisitor didn’t mean to interrupt his work, but there was only so much silence they could stand before losing their mind. They had been thinking, anyway, and since they weren’t alone, the elf couldn’t think of any better thing to do than to verbalize themself.

Elias continues reading over dense and vapid documents and, without turning around, asks, “What do you mean?”

“Elias,” Mio rolls their eyes even though they know he can’t see them, “you know what I mean.”

He hums his disagreement.

“Do you think…” Mio pauses, the words right on the edge of their mouth. Saying them out loud gives them meaning, importance. Suddenly, fear creeps into them and they shrink against the wall.

They take a calming breath through their nose to slow their racing thoughts. 

“Do you think the Chantry will… change me?”

Elias’s body language becomes stiffer then, his shoulders tensing and his back becoming straighter. The human scoots back in his chair and finally turns to face Mio. His lips press into a tight, thin line and his eyebrows are nearly touching from concern. 

“Mio, I don’t think—“

They interrupt. “Is it out of the realm of possibility!”

Their outburst leads them to stand, long and coily hair bouncing on their shoulders as they do. Light brown eyes become alight with flame. Instinctively, their hands move to cover their ears. 

“They’ve done it to that Warden!” their voice starts to shake with emotion. “A-and the elf from your Chant! He wasn’t even in—“

“I know. I know the Canticle of Shartan was made dissonant.” Elias tries for a placating tone, but he comes off as tired, and it hits Mio’s ears as condescending.

“What if, what if they do that to me? Th-that, that,” they almost choke on the word,

“That  _ sanitization. _ ”

Mio looks to their older brother for answers, but he doesn’t meet their eyes. His hands lay limp in his lap. Long, dark hair falls into his face and hides his expression. The elf’s bottom lip quivers and the only sound in the defeating silence is Mio’s rapid breathing. Their mind keeps filling with disaster scenarios, so they continue talking.

“It’s already begun, hasn’t it,  _ ellas? _ ” Mio uses the old nickname on purpose; it has its intended effect as Elias gambles a look up at them. His eyes are wet with tears that have yet to fall. He only nods.

“They call me Herald, all of them,” Mio goes on. “Miss Montilyet, Miss Pentaghast, they insist on that title.”

Elias’s mouth opens then closes. He reaches out to take Mio’s hand; the young elf comes to kneel in front of him, placing one hand on his knee and taking his right hand in his left. Their respective Anchors glow and thrum slightly with a green light, causing the pair to wince in unison.

Mio lowers their volume but doesn’t expect it to sound so fragile when it comes out. “They… must know. Surely, the irony is apparent.”

“‘Irony’ is an odd word, wouldn’t you say?” Elias offers a slight smile.

“It is the kindest one I could think of.”

The man sighs as if all the tension in his body would leave with it. “Don’t spare my feelings, Mio.”

They begin again. “I will not become a figurehead for them, for  _ that.  _ For a religion that represents templars, and lies, and… colonizers.”

“Nor would I suggest that you do,” Elias says, giving them all the admiration he can muster.

“What  _ do  _ you suggest I do?”

He remains quiet for a moment. In that long stretch of silence, Mio fears they’ve overstepped the bounds of what Elias was willing to listen to; their hand squeezes his knee in an attempt to bridge any gap they might have created. To their amusement, he says exactly what they wanted to hear. 

“You don’t need to ask me, firefly; just piss them off as best you can and I’ll make sure everything gets documented.”

Mio gives him a bitter smile and a raised eyebrow. They understand he couldn’t “fix” the problem, there were too many underlying abuses; the issue was much larger than a pair of mismatched siblings from the Fereldan countryside, but there was something that set them apart: a combination of knowledge and the stubbornness to control their own legacy before anyone could do it for them.

“Will they try to stop me?” Mio asks, half-joking.

Elias breathes a laugh. “Assuredly.”

“Nothing we can’t handle, I suppose.”

Elias shakes his head, then pushes a finger into Mio’s chest. “Nothing  _ you  _ can’t handle.”


End file.
